


noh omo but

by junietuesday25



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Gen, My First Work in This Fandom, Pre-Canon, Pre-Squip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-12 01:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19121668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junietuesday25/pseuds/junietuesday25
Summary: The first day of sophomore year! Jeremy could so, totally, definitely do this!The precursor to "boyf riends".





	noh omo but

**Author's Note:**

> Look I have no clue how New Jersey high schools work I’m sorry
> 
> I’ve been meaning to write this for a while, but the final push was from a drawing by [h0n3yk1tt3n](https://h0n3yk1tt3n.tumblr.com/) (which i used as an illustration), so credit goes there. This ended up a lot longer than I thought it’d be, and I kinda wish I’d fitted more no homos in there but whatever. Enjoy my debut into the Be More Chill fandom! Expect to see a ton more from me because I've fallen deeply in love with this musical

First day of sophomore year! Jeremy could so, totally, definitely do this!

Jeremy could so, totally, definitely _not_ do this. 

His optimism was quickly crushed when he woke up at 7:00 AM to realize that his alarm hadn’t gone off. He honestly had zero clue what happened—but either way, he had only just over fifteen minutes to shower, pull his jeans and shirt and cardigan on (not even his favorite one, he didn’t have time to look for it), shove a poptart in his mouth, grab his backpack, and stumble out the door when he heard the insistent honking of Michael’s sister’s car in the driveway. She was in her senior year of high school, so this would be her last year driving Jeremy and Michael to Middleborough High. Michael loudly and often described how excited he was for her to be gone, but Jeremy could tell how much Michael wasn’t looking forward for his sister to be off to college. But Jeremy didn’t push it—he figured it was just one of those sibling things.

Jeremy was pulled out of his thoughts by Michael leaning out the car window and waving at him. Jeremy smiled. And suddenly had an uncontrollable urge to burst into song.

“Get in the car, kid, we’re gonna be late,” Ana yelled, honking the horn again. So Jeremy got in, dropping his backpack on the floor and immediately leaning his head onto Michael’s shoulder and groaning.

“No homo,” Jeremy said. Then, to Ana, “Can you put on Hamilton?”

Immediately Michael sputtered loudly. “Hamilton _again?_ Come on, we listen to that every day, it’s my turn to pick the music—”

Ana pulled out of the driveway, plucking her phone from the cupholder and opening Spotify. 

“You two fight it out,” she said, not taking her eyes off the road. “Just don’t break my phone or I’ll murder you and dump you in an alley.”

“Ate!” Michael said indignantly. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“Michael, Michael.” Ana tsked. “Don’t you know that siblings are _never_ on each other’s side?”

She held the phone out behind her, and lucky for Jeremy, he was sitting in the middle seat—right in front of where Ana was dangling her phone. He was easily able to snag it and go straight to the “Hamilton” album.

Michael made grabby hands. “Jeremy,” he whined. “I’ve practically got the entire album memorized at this point, we listen to Hamilton so much.”

“Fine, fine,” said Jeremy. He grinned. “Then let’s listen to Dear Evan Hansen.”

He exited Hamilton and clicked “Anybody Have a Map?”, causing Michael to throw his hands in the air as the first few guitar strums started to float through the car.

“I give up,” Michael declared. “And you need to go to, like, musical addiction rehab or something.”

“Please,” said Jeremy. “Just look at Christine.”

Michael rolled his eyes and said nothing.

“Aww,” said Ana from the front, “is Mikey jeawous of his Jer-Bear’s cwush~”

“Shut up, Ate,” Michael said, huffing.

“Oh, come on, you two are literally the gayest couple I know—”

“We’re _not a couple_ —”

“Come on, just try and tell me how completely heterosexual those ‘no homo’s are, I dare you—”

“The whole point is that it’s not gay! It’s ‘no homo,’ dumbass—”

Jeremy had learned long ago to stay out of these fights.

“Whatever you say, kid,” said Ana. “Whatever you say.”

They got to school; Jeremy’s and Michael’s lockers were next to each other this year, which was a nice surprise. As Jeremy checked his schedule and loaded his books into his locker, he thought that maybe today would be a good day after all.

Except when he kneeled down to dig through his backpack, he found that his pencil case wasn’t there. 

“Shoot,” Jeremy said under his breath. “I left my pencils?”

He must have forgotten it in the rush of this morning and last night, when he got caught up in ~~masturbating his anxiety away~~ A Thing That He Refused To Talk About. He’d brought like twenty million pencils and pens _just_ so he wouldn’t have to go through the complete and utter embarrassment of asking someone for a basic writing utensil and feel them silently judging him for not having such a simple school supply, or having to get up in the middle of class and watch the _teacher_ watch him and silently judge him and curse him for being another one of those students who stole one of their pencils and never gave it back, and really this was just a wonderful way to start the day—

“Here, borrow mine.” Michael dropped a pencil case at Jeremy’s side. “Just don’t chew the ends to nothing, only I’m allowed to do that.”

“First of all, I do what I want.” Jeremy grabbed the pencil case and stood. “Secondly, thank you so much Michael for saving me from dying of anxiety, I am forever in your debt, no homo but—” Jeremy side-hugged Michael “—you are my absolute most favorite person ever and I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Michael, leaning into the embrace with a roll of his eyes. “Dork.”

Then Jeremy jumped back when a yell of “GAY!” echoed down the hall. He looked around for the source of the shout.

It was this shockingly tiny kid in a tank top and camo pants who had a bright streak of red down his hair. Except, no, he wasn’t tiny; sure, he was short—shorter than Michael even, and Michael was _miniature_ (no matter how much Michael insisted that his growth spurt was coming soon and that Jeremy was just crazy tall)—but the kid was buff as hell. As in, a “how do you even get those kind of muscles as a _fifteen-year-old??_ ” level of buff. He was surprisingly hot, too, and Jeremy would probably be into him if he hadn’t just yelled “GAY!” in _that tone_ for something as simple as two guys hugging. Jeremy didn’t want to be bi for a dude who was a least some form of homophobic, and who was shaping up to be a bully, based on the way he shoved people into lockers on his way down the hall. So.

There were still a few people laughing as they walked off. Jeremy tried to tamp down his flaming mortification as he snatched his books and stacked them up in his arms as quickly as he could.

“Don’t worry about them,” said Michael. He was clearly trying to go for nonchalance, but hints of irritation and embarrassment revealed itself through the slightly red tint of his cheeks. “Just remember we’ll—”

“Be cool in college,” Jeremy finished for him. “I get it, dude. You’ve said it, like, a million times.”

“That’s because it’s true,” said Michael cheerfully. He pulled his headphones up from around his neck. “See you in—” he took out his schedule and glanced down at it “—algebra!”

Jeremy shook his head, watched Michael disappear down the hall and dance to the music in his headphones all the while, and made his way to first period English. And froze when he got there.

Because Christine was sitting a desk in the center of the second row, doodling on a scrap of notebook paper. And when Jeremy glanced at the seating chart stuck to the door with a tiny strip of Scotch tape, Jeremy’s desk was right next to hers.

Oh no. 

Oh yes. 

Oh no. 

Oh yes?

Jeremy had no clue how he was supposed to handle this. On one hand, there was no way he’d be able to focus on anything with Christine sitting _right there_ with her pretty laugh and shiny wavy hair that shone brown in the sun and infectious smile with dimples and look, his best friend was gay and Jeremy had absolutely zero problem with that as a bisexual (-romantic? But that was an issue for another time) person himself, but how could someone _not_ like girls? They were beautiful and charming and sweet and—

Anyway. On the other hand, _Jeremy would get to sit next to Christine in class._ Sure, nothing would probably come out of it—Jeremy was way, so, far too socially anxious for that—but it was the principle of the thing. In theory, Jeremy could start a conversation with Christine about, say, the book she was reading that day, or the art she was drawing, or literally anything as long as it didn’t sound creepy.

Oh, shoot, Jeremy had been standing in the middle of the doorway for an awkward amount of time. People were staring at him. Jeremy squared his shoulders, grabbed the straps of his backpack, and navigated to his seat without falling flat on his face and ensuring that he’d never be able to show himself in this part of New Jersey ever again. Small victories?

Christine continued to shade in her drawing. It was of characters from the Riordanverse, based on the orange Camp Half-Blood shirts they were wearing—actually, now that Jeremy looked, it was the original three, because Grover had goat legs and it would be hard to mix him up with any of the other trios. Anyways, Michael would tell him that Christine was now pretty much 99% confirmed gay, because apparently the Percy Jackson books were gay culture or something. He’d know; Michael kept up with that kind of thing. Jeremy would normally just take his word for it, except he kind of didn’t want to take Michael’s word for it now, because if Christine was gay—

Maybe Christine was bi like him. Or maybe she was pan. Because Jeremy still liked to think that he had even a miniscule chance with her.

The bell rang, and Jeremy jolted, looking up.

Apparently the rest of his class had filed in sometime between Jeremy arriving and freaking out about sitting next to Christine, because the teacher cleared his throat and said, “Asu.”

And yay, attendance. Jeremy’s absolute most favorite part of the day.

Ha! That was sarcastic! Because Jeremy _hated_ attendance! 

Why oh why did his father have to have the last name “Heere”? Sure, it was better than having his mom’s last name (not that it was particularly terrible or anything—her maiden name was “Simonson” which wasn’t really that bad—but he just didn’t want to be associated with his mother in any way), but still. _Heere._ Which sounded like “here.” Which was what you usually said during attendance. No one said “present,” only the losers and the nerds and the loser nerds (which was pretty much all nerds anyway) used it unironically, so he couldn’t say that. So basically attendance was hell.

“Canigula.”

Christine raised her hand and said, “Here!” Jeremy looked at her, then away, feeling his face heat up.

A few more names, and a few more “here”s. Then, “Heere.”

Oh no, uh, uh, “Um, present?”

Jeremy stared fixedly ahead as snickers came from behind him. Were they laughing at him? But what else would they be laughing at?

Attendance couldn’t be over soon enough; Jeremy was painfully aware of every “here” that came after him. And then of course class had to be boring as hell; just some syllabus stuff, the plans for the year—Jeremy zoned out halfway through, honestly. They’d be working through this stuff over the course of the year anyway, there wasn’t any point in being told about the entire curriculum now. There were better things to do, anyway—things such as watching the way Christine’s soft (probably soft, anyway, but Jeremy’d never touched it; was it creepy to say he wished he could?) hair fell over her eyes as she took notes, and how she brushed the loose strand behind her ear every few seconds, and how she seemed to be smiling at nothing, smiling like her OTP had finally kissed and confessed, and how her face seemed to almost glow, and how she drew little smiley blobby characters in the margins of her notebook, and the way that even though her jean jacket covered with patches didn’t look like it would be particularly flattering, it hugged her figure perfectly and Jeremy was kind of freaking out because _how could a girl be this pretty??_

Jeremy jumped out of his seat when the bell rang. Then took extra time loading his books into his bag, because he didn’t want to seem like he was too excited to be away from Christine. And then he froze.

Because Christine smiled at him as she walked out of the classroom. Like, actually smiled at him!

Or what if she hadn’t? What if she was…smiling at someone else? Or what if she wasn’t even smiling at anyone and Jeremy was just a desperate pining idiot?

That was probably more likely, but Jeremy still couldn’t help but be hopeful that maybe things with Christine would look up this year. Maybe, just maybe, they could even upgrade to friends, and from there, to boyfriend and girlfriend. But wait, that was implying that friends was a downgrade from romance, and no homo but Jeremy loved Michael very much, the same Michael that had a friend in the GSA who was a proud aromantic who told Michael who told Jeremy about how that kind of thinking was “toxic and amatonormative”, whatever that was supposed to mean—

Anyway. Him! Christine! Maybe friends! This day was looking up!

Jeremy had a skip in his step on his way to second period, which he shared with Michael. And the teacher didn’t seem to have any kind of assigned seating, which meant he and Michael could sit next to each other in the two seats nearest to the window.

“What’s got you so happy?” Michael said, as they settled into their desks. He grinned, and nudged Jeremy teasingly. “Did Christine cough in your direction today?”

“Shut up,” said Jeremy. “No, but actually, she smiled at me! Like for real! It’s progress!”

“Did she?”

“Well, either that or she was smiling at someone behind me.”

“Oh.”

“It _is_ progress!” Jeremy insisted. “I’m at least sixty-seven percent sure that Christine was smiling at me, so.”

“Sixty-seven percent?” Michael repeated. “Well, if the number is _that specific…_ ”

“I hate you.”

“Aw, you love me.”

Jeremy glared at Michael. He could only hold the expression for a few moments longer before crumbling.

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he said, with a roll of his eyes, “I do love you. No homo.”

Michael grinned.

“Don’t give yourself too much credit, I love you about the same amount that I love orange gummy bears.”

“…Those are your least favorite flavor.”

“Your point?”

“Mean.”

Then the teacher walked in, so Jeremy didn’t say anything back to Michael, because he didn’t like talking during class because the teacher might catch him and yell at him and like, the getting in trouble part wasn’t terrible, he didn’t really care about that too much, it was the being humiliated in the middle of a public classroom part that got him, he might actually die if he got yelled at in class where his classmates would see his red face and how he wasn’t paying attention and how they’d all laugh at him—

Anyway. Algebra II could be worse, really. The teacher was nice enough, and there wasn’t anyone particularly awful in the class; it was just boring, mostly, because Jeremy and Michael had never really liked math. They ended up playing hangman in the corner of Jeremy’s notebook, and Jeremy would shift his arm to cover it up and pretend to take notes every few minutes when the teacher would look away from the board and over at them. Not a bad way to spend class.

Next period was chemistry. He sat down at his assigned seat, and began to unpack, not expecting anything interesting to happen. Which was why it was a surprise when, of all people, the kid from that morning dumped his backpack on the floor by Jeremy’s table and dropped into the seat next to his with much more force than necessary.

Jeremy went stiff, avoiding looking at the new kid. There was silence for a few moments. Then—

“Yo, tallass,” the kid snapped, making Jeremy jump. “Move your books, I don’t have any room.”

“Sorry!” Jeremy managed. He pushed his books to the other side of the table, and the kid pulled his stuff out of his bag on the floor and dumped it on the table, not even bothering to stack them up even a little.

Jeremy looked back up to the front of the room. Out of the corner of his eye he could spot the dude pull out his phone and open up some violent bloody shooter game, barely bothering to hide it under the table; Jeremy turned his head slightly to get a better look.

“What are you staring at?” the kid demanded, and Jeremy jolted. “Mind your own beeswax.”

“Who even says ‘mind your own beeswax’ anymore?” Only Jeremy didn’t say that, because he had some actual self-preservation, thank you very much.

There was silence for a few minutes until the teacher arrived, and class began. Jeremy learned that the kid’s name was Richard Goranski; he was pretty sure he recognized the last name, but not the first—did Rich have a sibling or something?

Another thing that Jeremy learned: Rich was a terrible seatmate, and probably a terrible lab partner based on the way things were going. Rich spent half of class ripping pages out of his notebook, folding them into paper airplanes, and throwing them at people—the other half was spent harassing Jeremy. He’d poke Jeremy while he was trying to take notes, and stab his pen into Jeremy’s notebook, and knock his elbow into Jeremy’s way too hard to be accidental when writing (unlike how Michael just happened to be left-handed and usually sitting to the right of Jeremy in class), and just be a general nuisance. When Rich went to the bathroom, about halfway through the period, Jeremy sent a more frantic than he’d like to admit text to Michael.

**jerbear (now):** Michael save me  
  
Remember the kid from this morning  
  
He sits next to me in chemistry and im dying  
  
He keeps bothering me and i cant freaking focus  
  
**mikey is typing...**

“Whatcha doing, tallass?”

Jeremy jumped. Rich was already back?!

He went to switch off his phone, but somehow Rich, who was standing behind Jeremy’s seat, was faster; Rich snatched it from his hand and read the texts that Jeremy’d sent.

“Oh, are you texting your _boyfriend?_ ” Rich said with a grin, barely bothering to keep his voice low and avoid interrupting class. “Have to update your knight in shining armor about every little thing?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Jeremy said quietly. Rich laughed.

“Look at his contact name!” Rich said, glancing down at the phone again. Michael was still typing; Jeremy had no clue what kind of essay would be waiting for him when he got his phone back. “That’s the gayest shit I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s a _joke._ Something that you probably couldn’t take.” Only Jeremy didn’t say that, because he was sure that Rich would literally, actually murder him if he did.

Rich continued, “Fucking—”

“Mr. Goranski!” the teacher cut in. “Sit down!”

Rich shut up momentarily to get in his seat. Then he shoved the phone at Jeremy, settling back to scrawl pictures into his notebook of Shrek dabbing at a flossing Thanos. ~~Somehow his art was actually good?~~

Jeremy sat completely stiff for the rest of the class, because he had the feeling that if he didn’t, Rich would do…something mortifying and/or terrifying to him. It was only when he was a good way to the cafeteria that Jeremy risked checking his phone to see what Michael had sent him.

**jerbear (20 minutes ago):** Michael save me  
  
Remember the kid from this morning  
  
He sits next to me in chemistry and im dying  
  
He keeps bothering me and i cant freaking focus  
  
**mikey (12 minutes ago):** Jeremy Heere. Jer. Jerbear. Jeremy. You need to learn to ignore these kinds of things. Yeah, high school is hell, but we just have to keep pushing through. I know you tend to dwell on stuff like this, but do you really think some high school asshole is going to matter in college? The answer is no, they won’t. Just think about other things! Like the fact that we finally beat level five of aotd last night! Or baby kittens! You said Christine smiled at you, think about that!  
  


Jeremy smiled down at his phone—

And bumped right into Chloe Valentine, queen bee of Jeremy’s year and absolutely terrifying. Oh, he was so, _so_ dead.

“What,” she snapped, Brooke Lohst on her heels, “are you doing?”

“Yeah,” said Brooke, twirling her hair between her fingers. “Like, watch where you’re going?”

“Sorry!” Jeremy yelped, stepping back and stuffing his phone in his pocket.

“Whatever,” Chloe said with a roll of her eyes. “I have places to be.”

She shoved past him, causing him to stumble. Brooke rushed after her, looking back at him with an ever-so-slightly guilty look.

Jeremy stood there for a moment, wide-eyed. Then he took a few tentative steps away, then just about ran the rest of the way to the lunchroom. As soon as he saw where Michael was sitting, Jeremy slid into the seat next to him, dropping his backpack on the floor and immediately thumping his head down on the table.

“Wow,” said Michael. “Was the kid that bad?”

“He stole my phone and saw I texted you,” Jeremy mumbled into the table. “So then he blew up of course, and then I ran into Chloe on my way here. Literally. I thought she was gonna kill me.”

“Well then,” said Michael, grimacing. “That’s not fun.”

Jeremy lifted his head to lean on Michael’s shoulder.

“No homo. I can’t wait for the day to be over. I miss summer already.”

“That’s a mood,” said Michael, and that was when Rich walked by. Jeremy jolted upright, but it was too late—Rich smirked at their previous positions.

“Yeah, Heere, he’s totally not your boyfriend,” Rich said, snickering. “You’re both so gay.”

“I literally have a pride patch on my hoodie,” Michael said to him, gesturing at his shoulder. “Do you really think calling me gay is going to insult me?”

“Oh my god, you’re actually gay!” Rich looked delighted. “So you are boyfriends?”

“What?” said Jeremy. He was not going to mention to Rich that he was bi. “No!”

“Right, right,” said Rich, grinning. “It’s ‘no homo,’ I get it. Very straight.”

“Exc—excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” said Rich. “Doesn’t everyone know that ‘no homo’ makes everything twenty million times more gay? That’s how it goes in all the fa— _ow!_ ” Rich jerked, then straightened his back. “I mean,” he said, a lot less enthusiastic, “that’s just how it goes.”

“Are you kidding,” Michael muttered.

Rich continued, “I—”

“Yo, Rich!” someone yelled from across the lunchroom. “Are you gonna join us?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec!” Rich turned back to Jeremy and Michael, and winked. “I ship it.”

Then he ran off, cackling all the way.

Slowly, Jeremy and Michael looked at each other.

“He’s insane,” Michael said finally. “Is he new? Because I definitely would have remembered him if he went here last year.”

“Yeah, I think so,” said Jeremy. “I mean, I know his last name, I think—maybe he has a sibling?”

The rest of lunch was…surprisingly calm, along with the rest of the day. It was only right before dismissal, at lockers, that—

Someone grabbed the back of Jeremy’s backpack, and pinned him to the locker as they messed around with it. Jeremy flinched in pain.

“What the hell?” said Jeremy, trying to twist around and see who it was. “What are you doing?”

The person yanked his backpack closer without a word. Then they finally let go, saying, “Don’t you dare wash this off.”

Rich? That was the voice. But what would he be doing with Jeremy’s bag?

Jeremy only risked moving after a few moments of silence. His face burned when he realized how many people were staring at him; he quickly shoved his books into his locker and rushed out to the parking lot, where Ana was already waiting, scrolling on her phone and leaning against the car. She looked up.

“Oh, there you are,” she said. “Are you going straight home or—”

She paused when Jeremy took off his backpack to chuck it into the car.

“Um, yeah?” said Jeremy, staring at her with concern. “I’ll text my dad.”

But Ana ignored him, her gaze fixed on his bag.

“N—” Then something seemed to click; a wide grin spread across her face. “Oh. _Ohhh._ Oh my God. This is amazing.”

“What?” said Jeremy, sort of freaked out. But Ana just shook her head and waved him into the car.

Jeremy got in almost tentatively, scooting in next to where Michael sat.

“What was that?” he whispered to Michael.

“You mean Ate?” said Michael, seemingly unperturbed. “She’s insane, just ignore her.”

“Hello, I’m right here!” said Ana.

“Yeah, and?”

“Looks like Hamilton is going on.”

Michael grumbled as Ana passed her phone to a now-much more cheerful Jeremy.

As soon as they got to the Mells’ house, Jeremy and Michael beelined down to the basement to play some video games, only stopping to first kick off their shoes and grab a few cans of soda from the fridge. They dumped their backpacks on the couch, moving to set up the TV. But then Jeremy looked behind him to reach for the controllers, and did a double-take.

Scribbled in thick black Sharpie on the pockets of Michael’s backpack were the letters “OMO”, and on Jeremy’s, “NOH”. Jeremy knew immediately where they’d come from.

“Rich,” Jeremy groaned. “What’s it supposed to be anyway? Like, an upside-down ‘owo’ or something?” But what would that make Jeremy’s?

“Don’t ask me,” Michael said. Then his eyes widened. “Wait.”

He leaned forward, and switched Jeremy’s backpack to the left.

“Seriously?” said Jeremy, slumping down. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“I mean,” said Michael, “this is what you get for punctuating literally every other sentence with ‘no homo.’”

“Thanks, Michael,” Jeremy grumbled. “Will the marker come off?”

“Probably not.”

“Well, that’s just even better.”

Jeremy so, totally, definitely could not deal with this.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~michael just naturally gravitates toward his fellow aromantics, even if he doesn’t know he’s aro yet~~
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> Credit to the iOS message workskin goes to [La_Temperanza and CodenameCarrot](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434845/chapters/14729722?style=creator)!


End file.
